Professional Opinion
by agent blakeney
Summary: observations on v/s, mid-ep2.06 Salvation, doctor's POV **now betaed**


Title: Professional Opinion  
Author: Agent Blakeney  
Summary: observations on v/s, mid-ep2.06 Salvation, doctor's POV  
Disclaimer: blah blah not mine blah blah  
Distribution: sd-1 and ff.net. anyone else, just let me know!  
Thanks: Alliecat, fot beta. :o)  
  
Author's note: NOW BETAED!!! wahoo! Right to Bleed is still in the works. Fear not.   
  
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When I walked into the quarantine chamber that morning, I was clearly interrupting something. It was in the details: the way she jerked her head up from the pillow, the way he eyed me without turning his face away from her, the way their eyes met as I told them he had to stay. I'm telling you, when that happened, it was like I wasn't even in the room. As I left, I turned back to apologize, but thought better of it. Anything I could have said would have been futile, anyway.  
  
You know, for this being the CIA, the rumor mill is pretty active around here. It's something I noticed very shortly after being hired here. I think that sometimes we get so deeply buried in secrets and lies that we need the normalcy of gossip to keep our sanity. And, as heightened as the sense of secrecy is, so too is the ebb and flow of the rumors. Suffice it to say, I had heard enough about Agents Bristow and Vaughn to write a book about them before they ever set foot inside the medical services department. Words like "protocol," "inappropriate," and "professional distance" were all thrown around the office with reckless abandon whenever the topic of one of these agents was brought up.  
  
I may have had some reservations about quarantining them together due to those rumors, but I did it anyway. My official explanation for that is that as a professional, I take no stock in idle rumors. Keeping them together would provide us with ease of observation, and there was no reason to use the additional staff and supply resources required to room them separately. My personal explanation is a bit different.  
  
The truth is, I saw the reaction on Agent Bristow's face when I told her about the virus. At that point, I had only just learned about it, and didn't have a full comprehension of its implications. But she did. Oh, she did. And if I was not so professionally distanced from the situation, I'd say that the fear that flickered across her face was enough to send a searing jolt of it through me. I had no words of comfort for her, had no way to soften the blow, except to send her to a person who, in my professional opinion, did and could.   
  
Before turning back to the lab, the microscopes, and the petri dishes, I watched her on the observation monitors. I saw her trudge to the quarantine chamber, the realization of the news hitting her harder with every step. She stepped into the chamber, and he stood. He may have spoken a word or two softly, something I didn't catch. I watched as she simply sat down, he simply placed his arm around her shoulder, she simply put her head down on his shoulder. And they sat that way until the lab tech came to draw more blood.  
  
At the time, a sarcastic smile spread across my face, and I had rolled my eyes before turning away from the monitors. I remember thinking something about rumors being true, that the nurses would have a ball with it, that we'd be hearing about it for weeks: how romantic it was, how ridiculous it was, how much trouble they were going to be in, how cute Agent Vaughn was, and et cetera, et cetera. I remember the last thought I had before dismissing them from my mind completely: I hope they're ready to live with the choices they're making.  
  
This morning I once again watched the simple actions of Agent Bristow on the observation monitor. She was putting her shoes on, and he was watching her from his own bed. Whatever I had interrupted by my arrival, had stayed interrupted, because the easy smiles they had shared as they awoke were gone. Those smiles had been replaced by tension, the same tension the air had been thick with when I had entered the room. She walked to the door and looked back at him before leaving with the same slow, plodding, weary steps with which she had entered.  
  
And now I'm laying here in my own bed. My wife is snoring softly, and I'm watching her, much as I saw Agent Vaughn watch in the quarantine chamber last night. And I think I understand. I love the woman sleeping next to me so much, so much more than my own life. When we got married, I was sure that no couple had ever loved each other the way that we dis. If I had to look at this woman in a bed across a hospital room like Vaughn did today... the thought rips at me. If I heard that I was going to be alright, but she might not be, like Bristow did... I close my eyes and exhale the thought out with extra force.   
  
Maybe I saw some of myself in them today. Maybe that's why I sent Agent Vaughn to her exact location when I released him, against the better judgement of my nursing assistant. I think these two need each other, the rumor mill be damned.   
  
And that's my professional opinion. 


End file.
